Hollow Speech
by ajstagg
Summary: Dean Winchester was in Hell. He thought he would hate it; the demons, the torture, the endless days of pain, but it seems Hell is more than it's made out to be. From demon receptionists to fallen angels with agendas, Dean must navigate through a world down under, that isn't all fire and endless suffering, all whilst searching for answers that he doesn't even know the questions to.
1. Sx1

••• The Morning Caverns, Upper Hell •••

Hellhounds were uncontrollable beasts, true, but The Righteous Man's first moment in hell was of the hound that killed him bowing to an unfamiliar, crimson, spiny creature— something of which he instantly knew was a demon.

It was skeletal, if skeletons were red and had no joints for the eye to see. The creature's ribs weren't aligned like ribs should be, with those bloody bones twisting and bending until it looked more like a tangle of red-slicked vines. Black smoke escaped from it's wide jaw, slipping between the gaps in it's blackened teeth— stained most likely from the substance it was failing to keep in.

More of this black smoke rose from the tangle of blood-red ribs, this intricate patten clearly holding the source of the smoke, rather than vital organs.

It's absolutely horrific and deadly outward look was nothing like the broken smile that adorned the monster's twisted face as it seemingly ruffled the hellhound's smokey, but rippling skin-like self. It looked happy, as if trying to find happiness in this pit wasn't absurd.

This is what set Dean Michael Winchester on edge; he was past questioning how he could see both hellhound and master in their true forms.

He was in Hell, and whilst his brother and he had worked themselves ragged trying to break the deal for the past year, Dean had done nothing else if not prepare for living here.

The demon turned to him, and its smile fell from its withered face, a squelching sound accompanying this movement. The elder Winchester found he couldn't talk; his throat felt as dry as sandpaper. Acting tough was as futile as ever, then.

"You must be our newest recruit. Name?" It's voice, female if Dean had ever heard one, was surprisingly soft and didn't match her appearance at all.

He swallowed thickly. "Sorry?"

"Your name, you hairy shit face. What is it?"It was then Dean noticed the clipboard and ballpoint pen in her bony hands. Where had they come from, her shrimpy backside?

"Dean." He finally snapped at her, and she started scribbling it down. "Dean Winchester." Dean finishes from where he still sat on the jagged floor, the lanky demon bitch looming above him.

Her pen stilled.

"Oh." She breathed. "O-ho-oh!" The Smile was back on her face, that small laugh working it's way out from between her rotten teeth, along with a breath of black smoke. Her voice wasn't as soft anymore. "I know who'll take you as an apprentice!"

A what?

Dean tried to move, to stand, to fight, to run, anything but sit and get his fate decided by some sun burnt receptionist demon, but found that all he could do was sit and stare as her small laugh bubbled and flared into a triumphant cackle that echoed off of the cavern Dean had absentmindedly seen that they were in.

"Well, you'll need to be broken in first, of course~"

She laughed and her whole body shook with it. She laughed and smoke came tumbling out of her rib cage. She laughed and the hound seemed to laugh with her. She laughed and she sealed his fate.

—

Not far from their position, another demon (rather common, in this hellish place) dropped a bloodied knife onto a long and thin metal tray. The metal was rusty, up to the demon's waist at least- and it had wheels.

"I think that you're not screaming enough."

The voice was strange.

It had a scratch to it.

A scratch that tore into the ears of the damned souls who heard it, for it cut through the air like a hot knife and echoed delicately in the caverns. For many, this was the last voice they ever heard before being plunged further into Hell's abyss. For the unlucky, it was the first.

It was the voice of a demon. The voice of a demon called Alistair.

You see, Alistair hadn't always been a demon. In fact, he used to be one of the Lord's children; an angel, but he fell, like Lucifer fell. He was forgotten in the abysmal gleaming walls of hell- gleaming with nasty things. Humans say they pray for the sinners, but did any being pray for their fallen kin?

Had he not have been so disgusted with the being he had called his father for so long, maybe he would have considered staying in hell was not good for anyone's mental health, really.

A few hundred years too late for that now, though.

Who thought these things whilst the latest damned was dragged in, eyes wide but certainly not seeing?

No one. There was not a creature left in these halls of Hell to remember Alistair's old origins, for he was not famously trapped in a cage in the deepest levels of this world run through blood and regrets.

He was merely a torturer. The Torturer. The Best of The Worst of The Pit.

That latest damned, that unlucky by the name of Dean Winchester, was too young and inexperienced for these halls, but all knew Alistair promised pain. Oh yes, and learning. There was going to be lots of that.

—

Demon lady had done something to him, Dean's half coherent thoughts told him, something weird.

He couldn't move his body, couldn't blink, couldn't speak and couldn't breathe, but he could see.

He could see the walls go from gleaming red to gleaming black, jagged rocks like teeth seemingly growing out of the cavern around him.

Hell seemed as solid as any other place; just as real as the monsters he and Sam had fought-

Oh. Sam.

Memories flooded his vision to the point he was no longer seeing where he was being dragged, but he could still feel it, the crumbling, worn floor raking beneath his already worn clothing.

Dean saw the hellhounds in his memory before he died. Dean saw them. They had stalked for all of a second before leaping at him, teeth and claws sharp, an ethereal blueish glow flickering through their fur- a glow that did not show in the glow of Hell.

He heard Sam say something, but shit, he couldn't be sure. Deans blood had been pounding in his ears, all he could faintly hear was the hounds ripping his skin apart, and wasn't that just the best thing to hear whilst being dragged through literal hell.

The Damned, the Unlucky, The Righteous, was torn violently from he own mind as he was thrown against a rocky wall. He led there coughing for mere seconds before a new figure approached his useless carcass.

"Good news, son. You're my new apprentice." That scratchy voice reached Dean's ears.

He only had enough strength to look up at the demon with no eyes and mutter, "I'm not your son." Before his vision went blurry, and two yellow lights were all he could see past the haze.

—

For a time, the elder Winchester slipped in and out of consciousness, hearing only pieces of an unknown conversation, focused more on the flaring pain that seemed to come from everywhere.

"-is The Righteous Man?"

"Yes, Alistair."

"Why should that matter?"

"Well, perhaps after he breaks the se-"

"Don't you worry that Angels will want him back?"

—

"What are you going to..." Dean tried, receiving only a dark chuckle from somewhere in his hazy vision. "...do?"

His only answer was not quite what he hoped.

"Have a nice trip."

—

The Righteous Man ended his first day in Hell as he started it, in a way. By being flung into an endless, stormy abyss.

He hung, or maybe fell- he didn't know, he couldn't feel his body- but yet again, he could still see.

Out of the nothingness came chains. They shot forward with malicious intent, and at close enough range, curved and cruel meat hooks could be seen.

They were stained and rusted from blackened blood of past victims, and screamed with their need for fresh meat.

They found it as they embedded themselves into The Righteous Man's shoulder, torso- anything that was found.

So he hung, hung in sheer disbelief at not only how he was here, but why.

"The Righteous Man, not so righteous now, are we?"

That's what the demon called him; he was determined to find out what the bastard meant, but for now...

For now, Dean Michael Winchester could only scream, one, prolonged name:

"SAM!"

Thus, he ended his first day in Hell.


	2. Sx2

•••Upper Hell•••

It was briefly mentioned before how demons came in abundance in Hell. That was, for the most part, correct, but not for all of Hell.

There were parts of Hell used for different means. Hell, for all its rights was the home of demons.

But Demons didn't need homes. Few wanted them.

So, a surprise it was when the demon Agares waltzed into The Morning Caverns to greet the bitch at the door. Why she thought that she was important because she got to hold a clipboard he had no idea. She was a bitch. That was all.

Today Queen Bitch was herself greeting a new soul. Agares could bet his demonic ass that she was gonna show off to the poor thing- make the most of someone being below her level of a stinking grunt.

Poor soul. As if. Whatever the newbie had asked for ten years ago landed him here, the demon thought from where he lurked in the outskirts of the cavern (it was a large cavern).

Bitchy was cackling now, and no, Agares did not know her name, why the Hell should he?

The bright light of the soul- brighter than Agares would ever see, he thought offhandedly- was radiating a sour odour of fear, no matter how much the human tried to hide it.

Agares didn't care. It wasn't his place, a demon, a damned, after all.

So, in a completely uncaring and definitely not curious way, followed them down. Down out of The Morning Caverns of Upper Hell, and further into the place of his dismal residence.

Not a home. Demons didn't need homes (few wanted them).

Did we mention that Agares was accompanied on this trip down? Padding behind him was his part time carriage crocodile companion, and a skeletal hawk squawking from his shoulder.

The bird was immaculate, polished white bones and shiny, black leather where the hawk's wings should be. The leather looked as if it was stretched over the bones of the bird's figure, and not all that manoeuvrable, but this hawk could most definitely fly.

The crocodile wasn't looking much better in Hell's reddish-brown gloom. It seemed as if it's skin was decaying- or possibly, disintegrating.The beast's form was shifting as it moved behind Agares, claws scratching on the stone beneath its feet creating a sound not unlike the hawk above.

These creatures would look far better off under God's glorified light that beings up top sang the praises of, but it was no secret The Lord didn't glance twice (or even once) at their humble dome under the earth. Which Agares found weird, wasn't His favourite son here? Or was it His second favourite?

The demon continued to trail the bright soul until they came to an elevator. He hated elevators, they were just coffins you could stand in. Yes, he was a demon. He still didn't like elevators though.

He wondered how this soul would end up, what title Agares would be called to present him with, when the time came. Maybe he wouldn't get one, or maybe a soul as bright as that meant something to the colourful bastards upstairs, living it up in the light. Colourful feathery bastards.

Perhaps they would meet again when Agares was sent to stop a futile attempt at an escape- he was good at catching runaway people, and had centuries of practice. Perhaps the soul would face him as Agares taught him a new language; everyday is a learning day.

Perhaps Agares could just stop being so damn intrigued by this one unimportant arse who sold his soul like the rest, and go be the good bad demon he was and cause an inconvenient earthquake somewhere.

Agares didn't care, really. Agares did not care.

(Agares could tell himself that for the rest of eternity; he'd still be lying.)

—

••• The Demos Layer, Middle Hell•••

Dean was pretty sure it was only his second day in hell, but his body was freaking out. Hell was apparently not good for ones health.

One minute he thought is was his second day, the next his second month. What the Hell, indeed?

Dean caught his conscience when he was sorely reminded what else was in hell when his short locks of golden-brown hair was tugged up in a gnarled fist of a local. Yes, he was talking about a bloody demon. Hair- pulling was not one of his kinks, dammit.

"And how are you this fine morning?" A scratchy, slightly accented voice spoke over sweetly. He attempted to answer with something cool like Go fuck yourself or words to that extent, but ended up coughing on his dry throat, bringing up blood. Well, at least his throat wasn't dry anymore.

"Yes, I thought so." What a motherfu-

Deans body was thrown across whatever room they were in. The rock was all grey. He couldn't say he recognised it.

His bare chest raked the loose stones on the surprisingly cold ground. Dean had expected it to be quite toasty in Hell, but- wait, hadn't he had a shirt?

Yeah, it had been a nice green colour and Oof-

Wonderful, broken ribs. His prick of a brain helpfully supplied.

"This is boring!" Another demon sang, also helpfully.

"Well, you've got to ease him into it." Chastised a third.

"Shut UP, Mammon, this is Hell! Capital H! Your not supposed to get eased in!" The second snapped back at apparently Mammon, who was quick to reply:

"Alistair likes this one, Beelzebub! Let him do what he wants! You don't get where that nasty bitch is without method." A pause, "A new concept to you, I'm sure."

Oh crap, they were actual children. Dean had the bitchiness to think through the pain. What the hell even is this place- oh, right.

Alistair, Beelzebub and Mammon were the demons of the day, it seemed. Now, Dean didn't know this, and wouldn't for quite sometime, perhaps he would when it was accidentally mentioned during a heist to steal something from someone somewhere in another part of Hell, but these 'demons' all used to be angels. Angels, that The Righteous Man somewhat religiously denied the existence of.

That would be sorted out soon enough. They had time.

"Hey, hey! Take him to The Rack, Alie!" Did the one called Beatlebub or something just call a demon Allie? Okay, so it was possible that Dean hadn't quite prepared for living here.

"I do love your company, so called Prince of Hell, but call me that again, and you will join this flashlight on it." Alistair spoke back, somewhat politely.

Dean thinks he heard Mammon sigh somewhere to his left, whilst the others were on his right. If he wasn't in so much freaking pain, he might've felt the urge to do the same.

As it stands (or well, lies, in Dean's case), he couldn't move off his surely broken ribs. Dean Winchester was reduced to nearly breath in also broken,short painful rasps, as hot blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, eyesight blurry and useless.

—

The Demons had a plan.

If they could break the bright one, then he could break the first seal.

If he could break the first seal, Lucifer get out, Armageddon begins and they shove their Father's divine plan (ineffable, in some parallel world) right back up his butt.

That was if God had a but.

Okay. Step 1: Get The Righteous Man (and oh if they weren't celebrating at that) to spill innocent blood in Hell.

There would need to be a setup, Beelzebub thought to himself, as Alistair began to chain the Winchester kid to The Rack. He knew that they would have to work quickly, despite all of his jokes. The still heavenly angels would be quick to realise just who wasn't in the right position on the chessboard, to be utilised come the apocalypse.

The three former angels alone could screw this up so bad God just might grow an arse.

(Step 2 complete, then).

Alistair would likely give Dean Micheal (and wasn't that ironic) Winchester a far worse treatment than his father, who Beelzebub was overseeing these days.

Well, rather loosely. They didn't need the father to pick up a blade, they needed the son to, so they could use his breaking before his very own father as a fabulous guilty card.

Finally, they would let his bright soul, curious as it were, see parts of Hell even Alistair (top torture dude didn't get you everywhere, Beelzebub supposed) could reach. Give him a taste of the Grey in the Black and White that God created for his own damn game.

In a few years, perhaps. His brother might enjoy some company.


	3. Sx3

•••The Demos Layer, Middle Hell•••

Dean seemed to have a habit of waking up in pain. It seemed to be a theme here.

He expected to see the three demons from before standing over him, but Dean was alone with the echoing stone walls and his ragged breathing.

Until someone, something, came in.

"You confuse me. Why are you so bright?" The unknown creature didn't have that deep a voice, but it was heavily accented- or at least, to Dean it was.

"Don't you talk, boy?" Dean coughed in response, making his ribs throb in protest.

"You haven't even been tortured yet! Though I suppose that rack can't be too comfortable..." The voice trailed off into quiet mutterings.

Dean attempted to turn and look at the newcomer, but was met with painful protest from his wrists and waist. Was he chained up?

If he was, it wasn't the kind of chained up that Dean would have preferred.

British, Dean decided- because why couldn't Brit's be in Hell? He'd never been to the country, but still highly doubted it was full of devout religious folk that sipped from little China mugs with their pinky's in the air. That couldn't be the whole country, right?

"Have you gone positively simple!" The British demon raised his voice, waking dean from his thoughts.

"What?" His throat was scratchy. His body was worse than sore.

"Why is your soul so bright?" The from rounded on Dean, coming to the front of the Rack. The British accent appeared to be from the poor bastardised the demon was currently possessing it seemed.

"I can't see it; why would I know anything about this soul crap? Or this place? Who even are you?"

The face of he human, the mask, of you will, was scrunched up in astonishment. His dark eyebrows drawn together in disbelieve as elegant fingers pinched the stolen nose.

"My name is Agares. You are new here so I thought seeing another human would comfort you, despite the possession."

"That does not answer-"

"He's dead, by the way."

Dean stopped, ignoring the pain in n favour of confusion.

"What?" His voice was slightly better now, back to a better gruff tone.

"The human. From... somewhere in England, I believe. Have you ever been? They have lovely countryside homes- not that I care. I'm a demon- as you might have guessed, I am in hell after all. Yes, he's dead. Him. This fellow right here." Agares spoke quickly and almost nervously. Did he have a time limit? Somewhere else to be? Oh look, he was speaking again.

"- Didn't kill him, no! He was already dead! Vampire, probably he is feeling a little drained. Human's name was Tim."

"Done?" The demon looked disappointed.

"Yep."

"Are you... is there a reason your here?"

"Ah yes. Why are you so bright!" There it was, that non- question, again.

"I told you- I don't know!"

"Then help me figure it out!"

"What?" Dean supplied.

"What?" Agares sounded offended.

"Have you noticed my situation." Dean wasn't wording that a question, either. What the hell was this demon high on?'

"Let's make a deal..." British began.

"Nope. No way!" Dean cut in, from his comfortable place on the Rack, "The last time I made a deal with a demon, well, here I am!" He gave Agares a closer look, further questioning the thing's sanity.

"I'll get you off of this torture device thingy- I don't keep up to date with the latest trends here, sorrr- and then we can go down a few floors to the demons that know a little more about souls than I do, and find away to stop you little light show from driving everyone to claw their little sinful eyes out." Agares held himself smugly, with a white toothy grin to match.

"I didn't here any benefits for myself in that." Dean snapped, irritable now his rubbing wrists were beginning to itch.

"Get off The Demos Layer of course! The torture floor!" Ah, that, because that meant a bunch to Dean.

"There are far nicer parts of Hell. I'll give you a tour if it ends in us finding a way to at least lower the light, oh sweet Luci it's bright." Agares continued without fail.

"Who?"

Ignored again, Agares rattled on, wanting more information about this place, because that could help him. Maybe.

"Your on one of the top layers of Middle Hell. Lower Hell has all the good stuff. The lower you go, the more powerful the beings. The more powerful the beings, the better stuff. I'll tell you more about it once we get out of here. Did you say your name was Dean?"

"I didn't tell you my name."

"Dean Winchester! It'll take a while for me to get some things sorted for a smooth sailing further down, but give it a day or two and Alistair should be bored with you. Fallen angels, always so hyper."

"What is he going to do to me?"

Sounding ever the Brit he was possessing- very committed to the role, it seemed, he said one last thing to Dean.

"Darling. We're in hell. What do you think he is going to do to you?"

—

Beelzebub was bored. Fallen angles tended to get bored. They had seen it all; Heaven, Hell, Humans.

All the Hs were accounted for.

But Beelzebub has never been bored enough to take a trip slightly up to Middle Hell and go see the new arrival. Dean Micheal Winchester might even be awake by now!

Walking the hallways with silent footsteps, they reached the door that held the righteous man. The very interesting, very important, very hated Dean Winchester was right inside.

Talking... to...someone?

"Let's make a deal..." Came a non- Dean voice from inside.

"Nope. No way!" Dean had interrupted the other, it seemed.

"I'll get you off of this torture device thingy- I don't keep up to date with the latest trends here, sorrr- and then we can go down a few floors to the demons that know a little more about souls than I do, and find away to stop you little light show from driving everyone to claw their little sinful eyes out." It sounded like the other was smiling.

Oh God- yes, it was that serious. Beelzebub had heard enough.

They stormed away on equally as silent footsteps to tell the gang (that Alistair was most certainly not apart of) of this recent development.

Beelzebub knew what their reaction would be, because it was the same as theirs.

The Fallen Angels would want in.


	4. Sx4

•••Tarrow Halls, Middle Hell•••

Beelzebub was tired of tracking the unlikely duo down through Hell.

Slowly, the two had been making it towards the Fallen Angel's cavern. This cavern resides on the first layer of Lower Hell; appropriately named The Fallen Layer. This was not only due to its inhabitants, but due to a battle that had taken place there a long, long time ago.

Beelzebub remembered it well. Their Father's Righteous little soldiers pushing them into Hell, forcing them into a home away from home. Those Angels, God, even humans could call this place Hell, but that's what Heaven was to The Fallen.

Righteous. Righteous indeed. That's what the Angels believed. The special thing about being righteous is not telling everyone you are- it makes you sound more arrogant than anything else. That was why Beelzebub wanted to talk to this 'Righteous Man' before their high and mighty siblings decided to snatch him up for God's ineffable plan.

This was a man that Beelzebub truly believed deserving of such a title, and deserving of being left alone, really.

Dean Winchester stumbled just up ahead of him, most likely still weak due to where he had just been pulled from. Beelzebub wondered if the demon with him was ever going to tell the boy that the cavern Dean was held in was not normal procedure, or ever figure out why the elder Winchester's soul was annoyingly bright and warm, like a smile?

No. No way would Beelzebub fall for this. It was Father's doing. Father and his stupid plan.

Which was exactly why Beelzebub was about to fuck it up. Starting with getting the gang together again.

—

"We're nearing the last layer of Middle Hell, Brighty." Agares had nicknamed him.

"Only another few hours. Do you need to rest now or later?" He was trying to mock him, but much to the demons dismay, it didn't sound quite as scathing as he'd hoped.

"Why don't you just let me use the alligator-"

"Crocodile."

"-crocodile taxi. I'd stop holding you up. Stupid leg."

Dean muttered the last part under his breath. Agares could just barely here it from where he was ignoring Winchester, sitting proudly astride his partially scaly companion.

"No, Larry is mine. So is Sonya." He snapped back in his grouchy manor, referring to the skeletal hawk sitting on his fist.

"Fine," Dean grouched back, "but never say I didn't try to help, bitch."

"Noted."

They continued walking in silence, the pitter-patter of small falling stones accompanying them as they went.

—

As for Dean's leg, that was a slightly more complicated matter.

••• 2 days earlier- Crystal Jarring, Middle Hell•••

"How long have I even been here?" Dean asked from a few steps behind the Demon, who had not left the form of the old, frail man with the straggled dirty grey beard since shouting at Dean upon their first meeting.

"Hell-time is different-" "I noticed." "-and you have been here for only hours on the surface." Agares spoke in his deep voice, that betrayed how tired the Demon felt.

"Shit." Dean mumbled, mostly to himself. It had to have been a good few days here; a day in that weird chasm, strung up by crazy-ass meat hooks, easily over a day drifting in and out of consciousness from where he was dragged and hung up to dry after, then the last three days spent walking down through Hell after Agares had picked him up.

They continued walking on a slight slip down, turning a corner just to see more endless, dark red rock of the wide corridor, descending into darkness.

Dean's mind drifted. Hell was a confusing place. It had been much the same when travelling between layers, and this Agares guy always informed him when they were coming up to another. The Demon, who was surprisingly chilled out, not very stab-stab now, kill you later and pretty regal.

He rode a crocodile, for God's sake.

The Demos Layer was all just cell-like rooms. Barred doors with poor souls behind them. Most likely none leaving anytime soon. It was a labyrinth of uniform, narrow corridors of angular, shaped stone and polished steps down (into more cells) until they left The Demos Layer.

"You won't ever see something interesting happening in that shit hole." Agares had, as was his default, grouched. "Also, I know what your thinking boy. The second I get my hands on a weapon it's bye-bye disgusting demon and hello free run of Hell."

Agares had turned to him, sharp and fierce. Dean was instantly on guard. That was exactly his not at all thought out plan.

"You won't last five seconds without my guidance. I'm the only one you can trust, so suck it up, brighty, and do stop being a racist."

If that wasn't a kick in the teeth, Dean didn't know what was.

Ever since then, Dean had begrudgingly, not quite trusted, but certainly listened to what the demon said. After all, he was an outsider in their home.

Agares warned him for hours about Pandemonium Place- the name of the Layer that they were approaching, which was apparently the seventh layer of Hell, the second of Middle Hell.

According to his Hellish tour guide, Pandemonium Place was a Layer full of clubs and bars. Dean tried not to show how interested he actually was.

Upon reaching the seventh layer, Dean was not disappointed.

Until he injured his leg.

Agares wanted to skirt around the edge of the layer, which was all on one floor. A wide open cavern that you wouldn't be able to see the top of, if there weren't lantern like lights strung up everywhere. Those lights cast a timid orange glow on the place, but was greatly dwarfed by the light and sound system in place for the probably gay bar that took up about a third of the area. Pandemonium Place was complete with a huge dance floor (currently occupied by copious amounts of demons and hellhounds. Yeah, hellhounds were dancing together.

"What are you looking at? We need to keep moving. It's been days since I got you off of The Rack, Alistair, the shit, is going to know your gone now. He won't be looking for you himself, but someone will. Hey, are you listening to me?" Agares leaped off of Larry and gathered himself up to give the damned soul a beating he would not forget.

Said damned soul had been bombarded by some demons in heavy drag, having spotted dean with apparently too many clothes on. The guy was in a shirt and trousers for lucifer's sake!

"Dean Winchester!" He yelled over the music, turning a slightly anxious looking Dean's attention on him, "Sonya! Get him!"

The hawk, who had been grooming her bones quietly where she perched in his fist, snapped to attention, then shot at Dean.

"Sorry, but maybe I can come back here sometime- eeAH! What the Shit!" Dean manly squeaked, as Sonya grappled sharp claws, wing tips and beak into the calf of his leg, knocking the air out of his lungs as he was dragged along the floor, leg up in the air as he was taken back to Agares.

"We're going." Agares snapped. Dean's leg was freed as Sonya retired to Agares hand.

Dean didn't need to look down to know there was something wrong with his leg, it burned and throbbed in time with his heart rate, and against his better judgement, he moved to get up anyway.

He managed, still in plenty of pain, to get back on his feet, only to let out a yell of pain and stare at his leg in annoyance.

"Agares." Dean said slowly, not wanting to anger him, "should there be black blood coming from where your bird got me?"

Agares looked in astonishment. "Well, she does have a tendency to poison people she likes."

"I'm poisoned? And how is this something you do to someone you like?" Did Sonya role her eyes at him? Stupid bird.

Said bird glared as if dean had said it out loud.

"Lucky you," Agares spoke again, "You're going to pass out from that, so you get Larry for the next day or two." He didn't seem overly pleased at giving up his taxi, but Dean was already getting dizzy, and his vision was blurring.

"Yeah, great. In that case... I'm just gonna... sleep now." His body hit the floor, and he hadn't woken up again for approximately a day and a half, when they neared the end of Crystal Jarring, the next layer down.

Yeah, Dean had no idea what that place was like.

At least he could walk on his leg now.


	5. Sx5

•••Tarrow Halls, Middle Hell•••

Tarrow Halls was a strange place, Dean decided. It was eerie, with seemingly very few of any creatures living here.

"No one lives here." Agares said from astride Larry, not for the first time making Dean jump, and question if he could read his mind.

"And no, I cannot read your mind." Sure.

"You should know that the large doors we pass every now and then, along with the slightly narrower corridors than the one we're walking on, all go to meeting rooms. Demons are in there now. Small affairs like what bad deed was done well yesterday, or the next move towards trying to start Armageddon."

"I should probably be worried about that, right?"

"Why?" Agares glanced over at him, "You can't do anything about it. You're dead."

The casual way he said that made Dean have to resist flinching. How on earth was he supposed to react to that? Because it was true. Dean Winchester was dead. He was now, in some twisted way, living a quite uncomfortable afterlife walking around Hell with no shoes. Thank god these floors were better than the Morning Cavern's ones, and the walls of the corridor between the layers. They were actually polished in some places.

"Yeah. Okay. So when's that due? Armageddon, I mean."

"I'm not a liberty to say."

Dean was barely tolerating the fact he was walking through Hell. Dean was barely tolerating being civil with a demon, but that was just a asshole of a move.

"Not at liberty to say? Shove it, Agares, because in case you haven't noticed, we have been walking around hell- aimlessly- at least to me! I don't know what we're looking for, mostly because you won't tell me a thing! I am quietly, slowly freaking out. I am in Hell! Actual. Biblical. Hell. I don't come here for visits in the winter because it's warmer. I don't know how anything works here, and your not making it any clearer! Hey, hey, this Layer has this and this, but you don't tell me why! Why did you get me off of that torture thing (that felt a bit like a bed frame, if I'm honest) and bring me down here, rambling quietly about me apparently being bright? You call me Brighty, don't think I didn't notice! Yet not a single other Demon seems to notice, if they do they don't care."

Dean paused, but only to step forward. His shoulders were squared and his eyes were not shining with never to be shed tears.

"So, why... why do you?"

—

Agares didn't know what to think of this human. Dean Winchester was different. He seemed to see things in black and white, but only when it would turn in his favour. You might call it adaption. You might say he tries to take advantage of situations that he had no control over, and stand out of the line of fire during the aftermath.

But Agares didn't know this person. He didn't know anything past his snark and fight or flight response to Hell.

Could he- a Demon, of all things- stand and tell Dean that Agares wasn't actually able to see his soul? He didn't know how bright Dean's soul was! It wasn't something demons could do.

Fallen or not, Angels could, though.

Could Agares stand their and tell him about the Prince of Hell that was waiting for their arrival. About Mammon, the larger than life Fallen Angel that had planned his escape from Alistair all for some hidden agenda the Agares was not permitted to know?

No. No, that just wasn't an option. Humans felt things. Strongly. There were a number of ways Dean Winchester could react to the news. Agares could try to explain; say he wasn't really lying. As far as Dean was concerned, the old demon had said they were going to find answers for why his soul had garnered the attention of Hell's fallen friends. That much was true- For Agares, at least.

Dean was watching him with a quirk in his brow, eyes alight with barely concealed anger. Clearly this trip had not done well to clear his mind, and had only filled it with questions.

"When we reach The Fallen Layer, an associate shall meet us. Yes, he is a fallen angel, yes, I should have told you this sooner, and no, I did not want to." Agares spoke quickly, careful to not let the boy interrupt.

"You..." All the energy seemed to drain from Dean. "And you weren't going to tell me just that, why?"

The Demon was astounded. Had the elder Winchester reacted calmly? This was not what he had expected. Not at all.

"Ah...well..?" Too astounded to speak, apparently.

"Mhm." Dean prompted, rather annoyingly.

"I thought you would react with uncontrolled anger and run off where I couldn't keep an eye on you! I don't understand humans, alright! I'm a demon! I've been a demon since The Stone Age! The world had moved on, and I've been in hell. What do you expect me to do?"

Before Dean could reply however, all four of the mix matched group whipped around, a low sound tearing from Larry's sharply decorated mouth as a ferocious wind whipped past them.

"You really don't know anything about humans, do you, Agares?"

Dean didn't recognise the face, but he did faintly recognise the voice. Agares, however, sounded like he was being choked.

"Pr- Beelzebub. I can explain." The demons deep voice rumbled in slight fear.

The figure was short and slender, a long, dark blue coat adorning his frame, that was accompanied by a black button up shirt underneath, and what was possibly a checkered skirt. But we'll go with kilt, seeing as no one wants to loose their head. Like Dean, the angel was wearing no shoes.

Unlike Dean, they had a blinding grin on their face, sending chills down the tired human's spine.


End file.
